Peach

I kneel to the ground fall peach,

its russet belly, its honey streaks,

touch its new tough skin, run my thumb

along its deep, sexy cleft. I pluck another

from a low branch, tug it down into

captivity like an animal caught

in a bramble, scooped into my arms

that open to return it to the wide field

of my cutting board where I lift

the knife, slice around the stony pit,

its purple edges bleeding into the gold flesh

in a starburst, and like a star

becoming into silence, miniscule

pulse of living light from this distance,

has been making itself over and over

from the fire within it, like the sound hole

of a violin that welcomes any dark music.

To think we can eat a sunset,

convicted, as we are, to the mud

of this earth, knees dark with dirt, hands

sticky with essence, to think I too

am here in this cleft body, a being

split into parts and seamed back

together, swollen with desire,

hungry for the sun.